


Hot Water Bottle

by Sodding_Malfoy (TheQueenAt17)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stozier, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13343679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenAt17/pseuds/Sodding_Malfoy
Summary: Stan Uris feels awful. He wants to tear off his skin. He can't seem to stop crying. That is, until his boyfriend is around.





	Hot Water Bottle

Stan’s golden curls poked out over his heavy woollen blanket and laid limp, unwashed, on his pillow. He sniffled, and a single pale hand reached up and out onto the headboard, groping along the wood until he found a discarded used tissue and then dragging it back under to his concealed nose. His shoulders shook with each sob, unrestrained. 

This happened more often than he cared to admit, and at completely uncalled for times with little to no build-up at all. He could be having a great day, a fantastic day in fact, and then all of a sudden he feels cold, empty and alone as the weight of the universe crushes down on his chest, reminding him that all of this is pointless and that nobody actually cares. 

He wishes that the walls were thicker so that he could cry and scream like a baby, but he knew that if he did it then his flatmate next door would come knocking, or he’d hear the person in the room below thumping on the ceiling, or someone would yell, “shut the fuck up I’m trying to sleep!” None of them would ask what was wrong, or wonder why he was screaming. They wouldn’t consider whether he was being robbed, or being murdered, or whether someone had crashed through the window and proceeded to remove his spleen. They’d just think about how inconsiderate he was being and how inconvenienced they were feeling. 

He sat up, kicking the blankets off and twisting to grab for another wadded tissue. He blew his nose and futilely wiped the tears off his cheeks with the jumper sleeve stretched over the back of his hand, and then scooted backwards with his phone clutched tight until his shoulders hit the wall. 

He knew that being alone when he was like this was bad, even though it was what he wanted. He knew how sad his boyfriend would look if he found out that he’d locked himself away without telling anybody and truthfully, he thought that maybe a hug was just what he needed. He punched in the number, took a steadying breath to smooth out his voice, and brought his knees up to his chest. 

The phone connected and a groggy voice came over the line. “Hello?” 

Stan closed his eyes and the side of his mouth quirked up in an involuntary smile. Just hearing that voice still made his heart flutter. “Sorry for waking you, Rich. Its me.” 

“Stan? Are you okay?” 

He could picture Richie sitting up in bed with that concerned face of his, a hand brushing backward through those untameable curls and a wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

“I’m getting there.” He sniffed. “Could you come over?” 

There was a quick swish of fabric, and Richie said, “I’m on my way love. Get ready to let me in.” 

Stan hung up and pulled on his dressing gown – one that was baby pink and way too small for him – and only then did he notice the time displayed at the top of his phone screen. 03:46. 

Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have called. Richie was going to hate him. Why was he so needy? Why did he have to be like this? He chewed his thumbnail and pulled his hair. Fresh tears were falling from his eyes. 

The buzzer went off, and he rushed forwards to the release button, unlocking the main doors downstairs before the shrill sound could bring anyone else outside. Hood pulled down low over his face, Stan walked over to the glass door of his flat. Richie came to the top of the staircase. 

He was still in his pyjamas, hair uncombed and glasses crooked on his face. His hastily thrown-on jacket was speckled with rain. Stan tried to smile, but what came onto his face was probably nothing resembling one. Shit, it was raining? Stan really shouldn’t have called. 

As soon as he opened the door, he was pulled tightly into Richie’s safe, warm arms. “Oh baby, its okay. Please don’t cry.” 

Stan burrowed his face into the crook of his neck and let himself be held, taking in the scent of his boyfriend. Despite feeling like shit and guilty for waking him, Stan could feel his tears start to dry up. 

He hugged Richie back, one arm around his waist and the other buried in his hair, and kissed his neck. 

“I’m sorry for calling you, I didn’t realise how late it was,” he mumbled. “I understand if you want to leave.” He meant what he was saying, but his arms tightened anyway. 

Richie kissed the top of his head. “You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you, Staniel.” 

“Sap.” 

“Only for you. Shall we go to your room? Or do you want to sleep out here tonight? I mean, I didn’t know you were into that kinda stuff but if you wanna try out exhibitionism you know I’m up for it…” 

“Beep beep Richie, you dick!” Stan laughed, and Richie smiled back at him as he led him by the hand through his wooden door, locking it behind them. 

They laid down on the bed facing each other, and Richie’s hand extended to cup Stan’s face. His thumb brushed over his soft cheek to catch a lingering tear. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, with you crying and everything, but you look so adorable right now.” 

“I look hideous right now.” 

“That’s impossible.” He grazed the top of the dressing gown hood with his fingertips. “This thing has cat ears on it, I want to take you home and buy you treats.” 

Stan sighed as though he hated it, but his eyes didn’t leave those of his boyfriend. With anyone else, eye contact this long would be awkward, but it was impossible to look away. In Richie’s sparkling brown eyes he saw the compassion and familiarity that he could find nowhere else, and it was all just for him. 

A split second before his lips parted to say the words himself, Richie breathed out, “I love you.” 

Stan’s breath hitched and his cheeks flushed. “I love you too, trashmouth.” 

Richie pulled him close and brushed a tender kiss over his lips, and it was just as soft and pure as the very first time they’d done it, nervous and unpractised in Richie’s old room in his parents’ house. Kissing Richie was like tucking yourself into bed on the coldest winter day with a hot water bottle, feeling cosy and content while the rest of the world froze. Warmth flooded through Stan, and his crying-headache started to subside. 

“I love you so, so much,” Stan repeated. 

Richie yawned, then smiled. “Come on, lets get you back to sleep before the sun comes up.” 

He turned Stan so that he was facing away from him and into the room, then pressed himself up against his back. One arm snaked underneath and up around his chest, while the other one laid across his waist. Pulling him even closer, Richie kissed the back of his neck and Stan felt him smile against his skin. 

“Goodnight Stanley, love of my life,” he breathed, twining their legs together. 

For the first time that week, Stan fell asleep with a smile.


End file.
